A Strange Hymn
Page 73

I let out a choked cry and run my hand down the side of Callie’s face, her skin damp from where the lilac wine spilled.
My skin begins to tingle, itching right over my chest. My magic gathers there, the pressure from it building to such intensity that it’s almost painful.
Out of nowhere, it blasts out of me. I groan, my back bowing at the sensation.
And then … and then I feel my power fuse. Fuse with another’s.
I lean over Callie’s body, drawing in several ragged breaths.
I search her features. I’ve been around archaic magic long enough to know when it’s at work—as it is now.
Seconds later Callie’s chest rises then falls, rises then falls.
It worked.
Gods’ hands, it worked.
Callie’s alive.
Her body arches, her lungs heaving in breath after breath. Before my very eyes her wound stitches itself up.
I look to the heavens above me and laugh once, a wild, manic sound. The night, in all its infinite chaos, moves around me and through me.
She’s alive, and she’s mine. Really, truly, entirely mine.
I rub my chest, right where my heart cradles our completed connection.
My broken wings fan wide with my triumph, and I don’t even register the pain through my elation.
She’s not mortal, not any longer, but everlasting.
Her magic and mine sing together through our bond.
Nothing—nothing—has ever felt this good.
I made her one of us. True, she’ll never be a fairy in the most honest sense of the term—her rounded ears are still proof of that—but she’s immortal like us, strong like us, and her magic is now compatible with mine.
I glance at Callie’s now bare wrist, her beads all used up.
Only death or repayment can fulfill a bargain. Death or repayment. My demand that Callie live, the lilac wine I hand poured into her mouth—it fulfilled her end of the bargain.
“You gave her the wine,” Mara murmurs from where she crouches.
I nod, not bothering to glance away from my mate.
“Any regrets?” she asks.
“I would do it again a thousand times over.”
Wrongs can be forgiven. It’s death that one cannot return from.
Mara’s final words linger in the air between us—
“Let’s hope she feels the same way.”
Chapter 55
My eyes peel open, and I blink at my surroundings. I lay in the same suite Des and I have been staying in throughout Solstice.
I’m … alive.
Strange. I thought—I thought I had died.
But I don’t feel dead. I don’t even feel like death warmed over, which is usually the case after I get my ass handed to me over and over again.
My hand moves to my stomach. The Thief of Souls, the dagger to the gut—had I just dreamed it all up?
Hastily I push away the clothes covering me. There, low on my abdomen, is a thin white scar.
Not a dream after all.
I sit up in the bed.
How could I possibly recover from such a wound?
I don’t feel terribly different, all things considered. That is, except …
My hand goes to my heart. I gasp when I feel a tug that has nothing to do with the beat of it.
Soulmate bonds are always described as though they are cords tethering two people together. Now I understand. I can feel the bond beneath my ribcage, reaching out across the world and connecting me with Des.
It’s only then that I realize the third oddity of the day—
I’ve been sleeping on my back.
I reach around to touch my wings, but they’re gone.
What in the world?
Where did they go?
I glance at my forearms and nails. Both are wholly and completely human.
Frantic, I will my scales to appear. To my surprise, I feel a tug on my connection. A moment later, the skin of my forearm flushes a golden hue as hundreds of shimmering scales take shape.
That shouldn’t have happened.
I will them away, and with another tug on the bond I share with Des, they vanish, my skin returning to normal.
This is Des’s magic. I can feel it thrumming through me.
Somehow, he saved me, and in the process, our magic unified—our bond unified. At least, that’s the best theory I have at the moment.
To test it out, I lift my arm and try to use my borrowed magic to levitate the vase of flowers next to the bed. Other than vibrating a little, it does nothing.
Okay, maybe I’m wrong.
“Not even out of bed and my wily little cherub is already exploiting her side of the bond.”
The man himself appears at the threshold of our room, leaning against the door. He’s wearing a Def Leppard shirt, leather pants, and his shit-kicking boots, his white blond hair tied back in a girly little ponytail.
My favorite outfit.
At the sight of him, my body blooms with excitement. “Des—we’re bonded.”
His entire face breaks into a smile. “We are.”
I touch my abdomen. “And you healed me.” Everything about me thrums with life. I feel new and powerful in the most exquisite way. “How did you do it?”
Temper? Had she healed me and fixed our bond in the process? I didn’t suspect she could do such a thing.
“I have my ways.”
Des pushes off the wall, coming over to my side. I touch the side of his face, and he leans his cheek into my hand, closing his eyes to savor it.
“What happened?”
“While I fought my father, you battled the Green Man.”
“The Thief of Souls …” I murmur. Even now the thought of him sends a shiver through me.
He’s still out there.
And Des’s father … “But I thought your father—”
“—was dead?” he finishes for me. His expression darkens. “So did I.” Des’s eyes grow distant.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Licking his considerable wounds, I imagine,” the Bargainer says.
Whatever happened between father and son, it’s plain enough to see that Des won this round. It’s also plain to see that his victory gives him no joy.
He works his jaw. “Wherever he is, one thing’s clear: he’s in league with the Thief of Souls.”
Just hearing the Thief’s name turns my attention back to my immediate situation.
The knife wound to the gut. All that flesh the Thief ripped into when he dragged his blade up my stomach. The chill that set in as my blood exited my body …
I remember Des demanding I live. I can still feel the phantom fingers of his magic trying to bar me from death.
But it didn’t work. I remember that. I felt it when his magic released me.
And yet here I am, alive.
My gaze cuts to my bracelet. All that stares back at me is my bare forearm.
For eight years I wore it, and now it’s gone.
I run my hand over my wrist. “Where is it?”
“You fulfilled the rest of your repayment last night.” By living, he means.
“But it didn’t work.”
“I found another … alternative.” He says this almost defiantly.
I rub my arm, trepidation crawling up my back. “What alternative?”
His silver gaze searches my own.
Have you heard that lilac wine, the rarest of fairy elixirs, can not only bestow longevity to mortals, it can heal the wounded, the Thief of Soul’s words echo in my mind.
“There was only one way,” Des says.
I’m already shaking my head, a wave of dread washing over me. “No,” I whisper.
It’s a cure all of sorts, and if you drink it … your soul could be mine for the taking.